


Damned Devotion

by Sabrielle



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, POV Second Person, Rated for future chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:00:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24878857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sabrielle/pseuds/Sabrielle
Summary: You meet the same man four different times.Your grandmother's fairytales never went like this.
Relationships: Olgierd von Everec/Reader
Comments: 16
Kudos: 38





	1. Once

The water was cold.

Cold enough to make you falter as you stepped into the river. The current was more gentle here than upstream, nearer your new home, more languid. It tugged softly at you as it passed, washing the last remnants of sleep from your body. Your dream was not shrugged off so easily. Though you barely remembered it, the feeling it left you with haunted you still. Empty. Cold. Maybe all those stories about your grandmother having elf-blood weren’t so far fetched. You slipped under the surface briefly, wetting your hair. Telling portents, predicting the gender of a child; your grandmother had been known for her small magicks. More luck than anything, or so your mother insisted. 

You remembered little from your dream, or had it been a nightmare? Boars filled your cottage, spilling from the front door, trampling your garden. There was blood, a storm of snow, and a man with fiery red hair and eyes like flint. The rest was a half-forgotten muddle. You ran your hands over the flat river stones. If you had inherited any of your grandmother’s fortune-telling ability, you couldn’t imagine what your dream could signify.

Morning sun dappled the water and nearby bank, burning up the veil of mist that still hung about the river. Your body having finally adjusted to the cool water, you swam leisurely upstream. 

When you saw the man, your breath caught in your throat. He was different from your dream, clutching his side and leading his horse. His eyes were shrewd and sharp, not quite the flinty coldness that pierced your dreams. You had never seen such eyes before. Dropping yourself into the water, you peered through the reeds as he attempted to forge the river, nervous horse in tow.

"Lost, are you?" Your curiosity overcame your hesitancy, and you called out, hiding your nakedness as best you could beneath the water. 

Your words stopped the man in his tracks, thigh-deep in the river, mere meters from you. He loosened his grip on his horse’s reins and drew a long curved blade from a sash belted about his waist. He swung it lazily, searching for the origin of your voice as he steadied himself. 

"Now now, if you are some vila or nixie trying to tempt me, you'd best search elsewhere." He swept the blade through the reeds mere feet from where you sat, continuing forward. "I won't be easy prey."

You wheeled back, splashing into the shallows of the river, narrowly escaping the arc of the blade, exclaiming in irritation. 

The man's horse, a disheveled looking bay, jerked in surprise at your movement, pulling the reins from its master’s hand. Quickly, you plucked your clothing from the bank, wishing to protect any modesty you had left. You peered over your shoulder as the man struggled to calm his mount. "I am no water witch," you said indignantly, as you pulled on a tunic. "And I would not wait around to banter with local men if I was one."

The man shushed his horse, eyes slipping from your half-naked form to the other bank and back, finally running up your body and settling on your eyes. He set a hand tenderly on his bloodied side again.

“Of course,” his tone betrayed the sarcasm underlying the propriety of his speech. “Maids often spend their mornings bathing naked in forest streams.” He sucked in a strained breath, trying hard to look unaffected, though you could see fresh blood had seeped through the brocade of his coat.

"Do you know in which direction the closest township lays?"

"Brunwich is not half a day by foot. Much faster by horse, I'm sure." You paused and then added, "My lord." Surreptitiously, if only for your own safety, as he appeared dressed in the most expensive, but worn, finery. You'd not lived there long, so you had not had time to become familiar with the local manors and families. 

He looked in the direction you point and nodded in agreement, but did not contradict the title you’d given him nor allowed you his name. Instead, he added, rather diffidently, “And the nearest healer?”

You flicked the water from your trousers with a practiced snap. “Why... you almost beheaded her.”

The man lifted his chin. He had the good graces to look somewhat remorseful. “Apologies, for my… ah, impulsive reaction. Although...” he frowned, “it is unusual to find a woman so at ease this far from town…”

Having finally pulled on the rest of your clothing, you unsheathed a very large hunting knife from the belt at your waist. As if in answer, you brandished it with no small amount of deftness. “Now, we can stand here and exchange pleasantries all day, or I can try and keep you from attracting drowners with all that blood you’re feeding into the river.” Without waiting for a response, you bent to collect the riverside herbs you had previously harvested and motioned him forward. “You’re lucky I called out to you.”

* * *

Back at the small cottage you called home, the bay horse wandered your garden, while crow calls echoed from freshly plowed fields nearby. Inside, you gingerly peeled away the man’s once white undershirt, revealing deep lacerations that spanned his chest and ribs. You placed your fingers lightly on the oozing wound, causing the man to flinch and groan. Despite the large quantity of blood, the wound appeared clean and fairly surface level, only having reached past the muscle to the rib bones in a couple of spots. For all the damage, it must have been a glancing blow. 

“I’ll need to clean the wound and then stitch some of the deeper lacerations closed. I have some fresh beggartick blossom for the pain-” The man grunted, interrupting you. 

“Tch, I appreciate your concern, but-” he flinched, knuckles white where he gripped the edge of the table, as you poured vodka over the wound, “-I would prefer to be fully lucid.” You raised your brow, but said nothing as you rinsed your hands and then cauterized the needle for suturing. Making quick work threading the needle, you gently placed a hand against the man’s chest and began your stitching. His body was etched in old scars. They seemed synonymous with battle wounds one would find on a soldier. You remember seeing similar scars on a cadaver in one of the medical classes at the Academy. Another hint to your patient’s background. You frowned.

“And what, pray tell, caused such a wound? The townspeople should know if there are horrors haunting their forest.” 

“A big fucking bear.” Before you could stop him, he took a swig from the distilled vodka. “My band and I came upon it in the middle of a hunt. I was trying to find my way to Brunwich after getting separated from them when I found you.” 

“It would seem we have very differing opinions on who found who.” You snipped the trailing ends off of the silk suture before stepping back to regard your work. 

The man gave a low whistle, "My, my, you are a damn skilled woman." The stitches were not too tight, not too loose, some of your best work. He ran a thumb lightly over the thread.

Smiling, you gently swatted his hand away while you worked to apply a salve of yarrow and calendula to the area, before bandaging. "Well, I didn't spend all that time at the Academy without learning a few things." 

"Is that so? I have naught to pay you with now…"

You looked the man over as you tidied your supplies. "I figured not. I am new to this part of the province, so the least you could tell me is your name."

The man slowed in his dressing, as if surprised at the question. "Of course… I'm Olgierd von Everec." He hesitated, and then continued past your lack of reaction. "My family owned a manor house not far from here… Or rather, used to."

So, a disgraced lord then. That explained a few things.

You watched him finish dressing out of the corner of your eye. He held himself with the easy confidence of someone born into nobility, yet he moved with the measure of someone with martial experience. You followed him out the door, to where his horse grazed in a patch of clover.

"I will repay you." He promised, holding your gaze as he did at the river. You nodded to placate him, patting the nose of his horse as he pulled himself into the saddle. He wouldn’t be the first customer to stiff you on payment.

Standing in your garden you watched as Olgierd von Everec spurred his horse into a gallop, jumped the fence at the edge of the road and finally disappeared past the turn at the crossroads.

The summer wore on. You settled into your life as a herbalist and healer, receiving visitors that came as far as Oxenfurt. Your dreams no longer bothered you, and you started to forget about your encounter with the remarkable man at the river.

Weeks later you found a basket at your door. Inside was a small pouch, containing seven crowns and a fresh bottle of vodka. Underneath it, folded in half, laid a bear pelt.


	2. Twice

The dance of seasons continued on, and in this way, two years quickly slipped by. 

Despite your fondness for the city, you avoided visiting both Novigrad and Oxenfurt. One, for fear of the burgeoning animosity towards non-humans, mages, and even healers. The latter to avoid conscription into the Redanian army as a battlefield surgeon. In the meantime, your garden flourished, becoming pleasantly overgrown. You traveled to Skellige briefly to apprentice under a master herbalist. You even declined two offers of marriage; one from a local blacksmith, the other from an old classmate, running his own shop in Oxenfurt. The bear pelt now found it’s home draped over your bed, keeping you warm through the chill winters.

It was the 10th month of the year; Velen, in the Elvish calendar, and you were preparing the last batch of seasonal herbs to be dried. The autumn had been wet. The smell of cedar, pine, and molding leaves permeated the house, even with the windows shuttered. You were so focused on the repetitive task at hand, that you failed to notice the drum of hoofbeats approaching from the road. Only a measured kick on the door roused you. 

"Just a moment!" You called out as you finished tying and hanging the last bit of goldenrod. Wiping your hands on a towel, you pulled off the half apron you wore and smoothed out your shirt and trousers. 

Odd… now that you noticed, it sounded like a whole village of people were waiting outside on your front step… 

You had barely pulled open the door when all manner of folk began pushing their way inside. Both men and women, rough-looking types all, began to fill your small cottage, ignoring your protests and questions. Mouth pressed into a firm line of annoyance and surprise, you fought through the group as they shouldered past.

"Excuse me!... Who the hell…" Your curses trailed into empty air as you sidled out your own front door to find a man you had last laid eyes upon years ago. 

Olgierd von Everec half-carried another man, near unconscious, his lower right leg a bloodied mess. A barely audible gasp escaped you as you rushed to the wounded man’s side. A garbled heap of words was all you could manage as you tried to sort your thoughts.

“Why- How did- Here??” Your hands flitted across the horrible leg wound. It was surely broken.

“My brother,” Olgierd motioned at the man leaning on his shoulder, “injured his leg in a riding accident.” He smiled at you wryly. “It happened close by, but you’ve made a name for yourself yet. Hands blessed by Melitele herself they say.” 

Despite your best efforts, your face flushed warmly at the compliment. As if to brush it away, you waved your hand in the air. "And them?" You indicated your now bustling cottage.

"My companions. Officially, the Redanian Free Company. Unofficially, the Wild Ones." The men and women inside hooted at the name as Olgierd followed you into the open kitchen. Gingerly, he sat his brother out on the massive oaken table, steadying him. The wound needed immediate attention, but the mass of people in your kitchen was making it hard to concentrate. 

“Don’t touch that!” you snapped as a tall bearded man began snooping through your shelf of dried beggartick. 

Olgierd, watching your temper rise, with no little amusement, let out a shrill, ear-piercing whistle. “I’m not paying the woman to play nursemaid to you lot. If you can’t make yourselves useful, get out of her way.” 

After a collectively sullen “Aye.” Olgierd watched as every single one of them filed out of the house and into the garden. He chuckled.

“I’m sure Vlodimir will be thankful to hear that you were all so damned cooperative.” 

As soon as the last person stepped outside you rolled up your sleeves and got to work. “Lay him out on the table for me… please” You rinsed your hands and dried them off. “And I need a fire stoked.”

Olgierd called out to the Wild Ones now poking about your garden, “Hear that lads? Fetch the lady some wood!” 

You doused the wound with vodka, in an attempt to clean as much blood from it as you could. At least the break looked clean. Dabbing at it delicately, you drew back in surprise as, in a sudden, jerking movement, Olgierd’s brother pushed himself onto his forearms before collapsing again and groaning. 

"Bloody hell. I won right? Tell me I won. That fucking whoreson…"

Olgierd held his brother down, keeping him from sitting up. "Of course you did, but… ah… that last fence you jumped..." Olgierd silently motioned for the vodka bottle. You frowned but passed it over. 

“And my horse! How is-”

"Gently now. The mare is unsteady on her legs, but she will run again." he helped his brother sit up, holding the bottle to the man's lips. Vlodimir took several deep draughts before pulling back, and focusing his eyes on you.

"...Fucking beautiful." He dropped back onto the table. "I'd break my other leg right away if it meant I could have a handsome wench like you tending me." 

Your frown deepened, but Vlodimir continued to ramble.

"Is this what you've been hiding, Olgierd? Some pretty field maid to mend your wounds and warm your hands on cold nights?" His laughter descended into a moan as you re-adjusted his leg.

Olgierd's voice was stern but barely audible above his brother's protests. "You know where my heart lies."

"Yes, yes, yes, Iris. Just because your heart rests with her doesn't mean your cock must too."

You coughed, as if to remind Vlodimir that you were still there. Olgierd shot you an apologetic look and shrugged. 

At that moment two women burst in from the yard, carrying some freshly chopped wood. You directed them to pile the wood in the hearth as Olgierd chided his barely lucid brother. The women, one with full golden curls, the other’s head shaved save for a dark forelock, 'tsked' you away and set about lighting the hearth fire themselves. Their hands were nimble and sure. It left you wondering exactly what kind of women ran in Olgierd's band. Their task finished, they nodded at you before heading back into the yard; joining their companions in a wrestling match in the midst of your garden. 

"Well, if you won't have her. Mayhaps I will." Vlodimir winked at you lopsidedly from where he rested on his forearms, bleeding on your kitchen table. 

You scoffed as you prepared to set the broken bone. “At this rate, you won’t need to think about breaking your other leg.” You eyed him, unsmiling. “I’ll do it for you.”

Vlodimir hooted at your threat, slapping the table and wincing as he accidentally jostled his leg.”Ah! a damn fiery thing aren’t you?”

Offering him another sip of vodka Olgierd shook his head. “Too fiery for you, brother. In this state anyways.”

“In any state, I doubt.” You handed the smirking Olgierd an empty leather knife sheath. “Get him to bite down on this. I need to reset the bone, and wouldn’t mind a little peace.”

Vlodimir dutifully took the bit, after downing another draught of vodka, and tried his best to remain relaxed on the table. It was a clean break in the calf bone, so it was a relatively easy set. Outside, the clamour of the wrestling match reached a crescendo, and in that moment you quickly adjusted his leg and set the bone. Vlodimir clenched his fists tightly and groaned, but otherwise sat well for the remainder of the procedure. Under Olgierd’s inquisitive gaze you swiftly bound the broken skin and splinted his brother's leg. 

The warmth from the fireplace filled the small cottage, and soon, along with the vodka, had Vlodimir settling into a drowsy state. “It’s best to let him rest a slip before you head out.” You spoke to Olgierd as you covered his dozing brother with a felt blanket. “He’ll need to stay near immobile for the next month and a half to be sure the bone heals properly. And yes!-” You cut Olgierd off before he could ask, “-that means no horse riding, nothing.” You began to tidy your supplies as Olgierd remained quietly pensive. “Or,” you offered, “He can do whatever he likes and live as a cripple for the rest of his life when his leg heals crooked.”

He smiled and handed you the extra dressings. “You might save some pity for me if you knew how hard it is going to be to keep my brother off his feet.” Your stomach flipped as your hands briefly touched. 

A laugh bubbled from your chest, born from nerves. “I can only imagine. My pity will do little to help with that.” 

The two of you made your way outside to the garden, silently watching the men and women of Olgierd’s company toss knives, brush down their horses, and generally carouse in the early evening light.

"I dreamt of you." You broke the amicable silence. "Before I saw you at the river."

Olgierd seemed unperturbed by your admission. "A seer and a healer? That's a rare gift." You wondered, idly, if he had had some experience with magic himself. “This is the second time you’ve aided me and mine.” He paused and then turned to you. “If there is anything you would have as repayment, it will be yours.” 

You were now a renowned healer and herbalist, with many returning customers. You wanted for little. The larder in your cottage was always full, you had firewood for the winter and you even owned many fine trinkets; a silver hand mirror, an ivory comb, even an illuminated book of local and exotic flowers, spices and herbs. There was little a brigand could offer, even a lordly one like him. 

"There is nothing you could give me." Your look was cheeky. "But, your visits do never cease to entertain."

Olgierd raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. "I wouldn't _dream_ of taking my business elsewhere. You seem to be stuck with the fruits of my misbehaviour forevermore."

"I can imagine worse fates."

In short order, the company had created a makeshift cart to pull Vlodimir back to their camp, while keeping him reclined. Olgierd left with his Wild Ones just before nightfall. Your grandmother always told you it was bad luck, but again, you couldn’t help but watch until his horse disappeared around the corner at the crossroads. 


End file.
